


Council of War

by KheWolf



Series: Scorpius [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Canon Compliant, Danger, Gen, el naddaha, scorpius- freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2018-02-05 02:17:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1801738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KheWolf/pseuds/KheWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone assembles at the Animal Clinic to plan their next moves. Stiles and Derek consult with Peter, and are attacked by Scorpius' forces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Council of War

**Author's Note:**

> As always, please let me know what you guys think, whether you liked it, and let me know how well I did writing the characters. I hope you enjoy it!  
> This is taking place post season 3A (but I'm ignoring the aftereffects of their sacrifice and the fact that they all should be in school still.)  
> Originally this chapter was going to follow Scott and Issac as well as Lydia and Allison, but Stiles and Derek's adventures ended up lasting quite awhile!  
> Just a heads up: Sterek won't happen in this story. I decided to keep it as canon as possible: so there's lots of pre-Sterek! And I'm going to explore how Stiles becomes Derek's anchor (as we see at the end of 3B). That being said, I hope it's still enjoyable to people!

*****

            Stiles hurried into the Beacon Hills Animal Clinic, arms flailing as he yanked open the door. He followed the sound of voices into the back, and saw Scott. Before anything else registered he flung his arms around his best friend, and a tightness in his chest vanished in a sigh of relief.

            “Hey dude, it’s ok, I’m ok.” Scott said, hugging him back. Stiles stepped back and quickly rubbed his eyes. Scott kept a hand on his shoulder and looked him in the face. “Stiles, I’m ok. Derek and Isaac saved me.” With a start Stiles became aware of Derek and Isaac lounging against the back wall, watching the exchange.

            “Oh…” Stiles said awkwardly, and nodded at them in a bizarre salute of thanks. Derek nodded back seriously, his eyes dark and watchful. _Okay, how the hell do I respond to that?_ Isaac smiled slightly, and Stiles felt a rush of annoyance at his smug look.

            Fortunately, the sound of the clinic’s front door opening gave Stiles an excuse to turn away. Lydia, Allison, and Chris Argent entered. The Argents took places leaning on the wall by the door, and Derek and Chris stared at each other carefully. Old habits die hard apparently. Lydia crossed over to Stiles and Scott, and though her appearance was immaculate as always, Stiles could sense that she was still shaken by the Prophet’s warning. Which was why they were all here.

            Dr. Deaton, a white lab coat contrasting sharply with his dark skin, entered from the back room, where injured animals slept. “I apologize for keeping you waiting.” He said in his steady voice, removing plastic gloves from his hands. “We had a few patients that needed some attention.”

            “Do you need any help?” Scott offered automatically, his eyes earnest. Deaton laughed.

            “No, we’re good for now. If anything, you’re the one who needs help.” Deaton strode to the middle of the assembled group and got right down to business. “I understand that there’s a bounty out for Scott, and that you were attacked twice now.” Deaton looked at Scott and Derek.

            “Hey, I was attacked too you know.” Stiles raised his hand, slightly miffed.  “Definitely did some saving. I was part of that.” Behind him, he could hear Scott sigh, and sensed Lydia rolling her eyes. 

            Deaton looked at Stiles then, eyebrows raised, and Stiles bit his tongue to shut himself up. “Indeed. Why don’t you all tell me what you know?” Deaton made his invitation general, looking around at everyone.

            Stiles and Derek shared their adventure with the bounty hunters, and then Scott, Isaac, and Derek told of the attack in the Preserve by the mysterious woman. Lastly, Lydia spoke of the Prophet’s execution of the two bounty hunters, and how he had spoken of a gift of prophecy. Throughout all, Deaton did not speak, but listened thoughtfully with a furrowed brow. At last, after all had spoken, he crossed his arms.

            “We seem to have several threats converging at once, all aimed towards Scott. Or perhaps only one threat.” Deaton looked straight at Chris Argent. “From what Lydia has seen, this Prophet seems to be the one who placed the bounty for a true alpha. I think we need to know more about him.”

            For the first time, Chris spoke. “I’ve been in contact with some of my old people. We used to keep tabs on different supernatural figures in the underworld.” Chris explained, as several eyebrows were raised. “The Prophet is someone who’s been active for several years now, but rarely operating in the United States. Mostly he seems to favor Egypt, but he’s been known to travel to Italy, Greece, and Turkey. Rumors say that he can see into the future, and that he knows his enemies before they know him. He casts a long shadow. My contacts said that anyone who has dealings with him and survives counts themselves lucky.”

            Stiles put his hands on his hips and blew out his breath explosively, causing everyone’s heads to turn. _Oops_. “Sorry. Just a little sick of the murdering stereotypes coming our way. Carry on.” Stiles gestured awkwardly to Chris, who seemed distinctly unimpressed with the interruption. Behind him, Allison hid a grin behind her hands, and Stiles felt gratified that at least _one_ Argent had an appreciation of wit.

            Chris continued, turning away from Stiles. “The Prophet is supposed to have a small group of fanatics who do his dirty work for him. I’m told he has at least one werewolf in his group, and lately he’s been consorting with bounty hunters. No one knows his real name.”

            “Scorpius.” Stiles jumped slightly. The name-drop had come from Lydia, standing next to him now. She looked totally confused, her mouth open slightly in disbelief. “His name is Scorpius.” She said, more confidently now, looking at Deaton, who merely nodded knowingly. Stiles’ estimation of Deaton went up a few notches. It wasn’t often Lydia’s strange powers went unquestioned.

            “So, we have a name. Scorpius.” Deaton said thoughtfully, his hand stroking his chin.

            “Lydia… isn’t that Latin?” Allison asked.

            “Yes. It’s Classical Latin. It’s the Roman name for Scorpio, the scorpion who killed Orion. Doesn’t anyone know the story?” Lydia asked, when met with mystified faces. She seemed slightly put out that no one knew.

            “Orion was a giant, and a hunter in the Greek mythology.” Stiles turned in surprise. Derek was speaking. Derek’s eyes flicked to Stiles’, then back towards Lydia, who nodded as he spoke. “He was so impressed with his skill that he vowed to slaughter every animal on earth.” There was a heavy pause, and Stiles winced. Chris Argent was shifting uncomfortably, and Derek’s eyes were boring into the floor. Chris started to speak, but Derek cut him off. “Artemis was the goddess of the hunt, but she was also protector of the woodland. She sent Scorpio to kill Orion in revenge, though they had once been friends.” Derek crossed his arms roughly and stared at Deaton, steadfastly refusing to look towards Chris.

            “But what does that mean?” Stiles found himself rambling, unable to bear the uncomfortable tension in the room. “So this guy has a cult that’s following him around because he can apparently see the future. And he’s named after a scorpion that killed a hunter.” Stiles was pacing now, his mind trying to connect the scanty info they had to go on. “But he’s put a bounty out for Scott. Does he have a problem with hunters, or does he have a problem with werewolves?” Stiles directed his last question at Deaton.    

            “Right now, I can’t say for sure. We don’t know enough. But I think I can help with our other problem, this woman who lured Scott towards the river.” Deaton disappeared into a back office, emerging a moment later with a heavy, leather-bound book. Everyone gathered around as he placed it on an operating table and began leafing through it expertly.

            “Here.” He paused, his finger pointing to a drawing of a group of lovely women reclining on rocks in the ocean. “I believe that our mysterious woman is one of these.”

            “Sirens.” Stiles breathed. “They’re real?” Scott moved in for a closer look, frowning at the book.

            Deaton nodded. “Many cultures have stories about women who, either with their beauty or their voices, lure people to their deaths in bodies of water. Mermaids, sirens, mirror-people… they all have similar characteristics. But I think I can identify our siren specifically, especially if she’s working with Scorpius.”

            Deaton looked towards Chris. “You said that Scorpius was most found in Egypt. I’ve been hearing rumors for some time now of a woman who wanders the shores of the Nile at night. Locals call her ‘El Naddaha’. It means ‘The Caller’. Accounts of her match up well with your story.” He gestured to Scott.

            “But how can you be sure that’s what she is?” Stiles pressed. If Scott was in danger, they needed to be sure of their enemies. He remembered Allison telling him that once, and saw her looking approvingly at him.

            “El Naddaha is distinguished by one main rule, or limitation, one that we can exploit. She always attacks her victims in pairs. Just as werewolves have to struggle with the full moon, El Naddaha seems only to be able to attack pairs of people.”

            “So as long as I stay with other people, I’m okay then?” Scott asked hopefully.

            Deaton nodded, and Scott breathed a sigh of relief. “We need to know more about Scorpius though. From what Chris has said, I suspect that he may be a clairvoyant of some sort. Someone who can occasionally see glimpses of the future.”

            Lydia spoke up. “He told me that we shared a connection to prophecy. What does that mean for me?”

            “Banshees have a connection to what Scorpius called prophecy, but only in a certain sense.” Deaton spoke carefully. “Banshees can sense other supernatural creatures, and are drawn to them. And as I’m sure you know… they are drawn to death.” Lydia flinched slightly, and Allison moved to lay a hand comfortingly on her arm.

            “So what do we do?” Isaac interjected. “Does this guy know what we’re doing right now?”

            “I don’t know.” Deaton answered simply, and Stiles wished that he could have lied a little, given them more confidence. “I don’t know how much he can see, or how much control he has over what he does see. It’s possible that he’s foreseen this entire conversation and is planning a counter to whatever move we make. I suggest we try not to think about that too much, and instead focus on finding out more.”

            Derek spoke up. “Peter might know something. I can go talk to him.”

            “Oh no.” Stiles argued immediately. “We don’t need his help. When has he ever helped us willingly?” Derek shrugged but didn’t argue the point.

            “I can try to find out more about the Prophet’s current movements.” Chris spoke. “I have a few more contacts I can press for information.”

            “I can help.” Lydia spoke, and she and Allison exchanged a glance. “If I can sense supernatural creatures, maybe I can figure out where he is, or figure out how he spoke to me.” Deaton nodded approvingly.

            “What about Scott?” Isaac asked.

            “Scott will stay here, with you and I. He can call home and explain what’s happening. I don’t think it wise to leave him alone while all this is taking place.” Scott and Isaac looked at each other and nodded. The meeting was breaking up, with people leaving on their assignments.

            “Whoa, wait, what about me?” Stiles asked. “Don’t I get something to do?” He felt heat rising to his cheeks. He wasn’t going to be passed over just because he wasn’t paranormal or a hunter. Not again.

            Deaton smiled. “You can go with Derek.” Derek’s head whipped up, but before he could say anything, Deaton spoke to him. “Peter might need persuading, and if anyone can get him to give up information without meaning to, it’s Stiles.”

            *****

            Fifteen minutes later Stiles was sitting in the passenger seat of Derek’s sleek Camaro, while Derek glared stonily out the windshield. They sped through the night towards Derek’s loft, where they were planning on meeting Peter. Derek was clearly frustrated that he had been saddled with Stiles, and Stiles was enormously offended at that. After all, he had recently saved Derek’s stupid werewolf ass. Twice.

            “Soooo.” He said, hoping to draw Derek into conversation to break the silence. “Any idea how to get info from Peter?”

            “I’m working on it.” Derek muttered grouchily, and that was _it_.

            “Okay sourwolf, can we kill it with the attitude? This whole brooding anger thing you’ve got going is really getting to be an issue. Don’t you know how to interact normally with people?”

            Derek’s scowl deepened, and Stiles was marginally worried that Derek’s eyebrows were about to merge into one. “I know how to kill you a dozen different ways.” Derek snapped.

            “Yup, there we go, socializing lessons from expert Derek Hale. Don’t like someone? Tear their throat out! Slash their gut! Take-”

            Derek spun the wheel hard to the left, and Stiles slammed into the right car door painfully, cutting him off in the middle of his mockery.

            “What the hell was that?” Stiles yelled.

            “Pothole.” Derek said tightly, his eyes sparkling with wicked delight.

            Stiles knew what the result would be, but he punched Derek’s shoulder anyway, as hard as he could. It was like punching a brick wall. He savagely bit his lip to keep from crying out in pain. Derek of course, hadn’t budged, and was now smiling slightly.

            “Shut up asshole.” Derek didn’t speak, just turned towards Stiles with eyebrows raised quizzically and that infuriating smile on his stubbled face.

            “Shut up!”

            “I’m not saying anything.”

            “You’re sending messages loud and clear!”

            “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Derek remarked innocently, pulling into the parking lot behind his lot. They both climbed out of the car and Derek led the way into the building, but Stiles wasn’t letting him get the last word so easily.

            “You know _exactly_ what I’m talking about. You’re using those caterpillars you call eyebrows and trying to do one of Scott’s lost-puppy faces, and I don’t believe it for a hot second.” Stiles ranted, his voice echoing as he followed Derek up the staircase.

            “Caterpillars? There’s nothing wrong with them!” Derek sounded enormously offended and Stiles exulted at finally finding a weakness.

            “They’re massive. Gigantic. Do you shave them? You should probably consider it.”

            “Stiles-” Derek started angrily but was interrupted by a voice from above.

            “You two fight like an old couple.” Both their heads shot up simultaneously, looking to see Peter Hale leaning casually against the railing of the staircase a half-floor up. “It’s cute, really, but I was under the impression that this was serious.” Peter’s sardonic voice floated down to them.

            Derek stormed ahead and led the way into his loft. Stiles imitated him, but his attempt to appear dignified and above Peter’s needling was seriously marred by him tripping over the step into the loft. He stumbled a few feet, arms flailing wildly before he righted himself. Derek rolled his eyes, and leaned back on the table that stood in front of the loft’s main window. Stiles joined him, hoisting himself up so he could swing his leg underneath it. They faced Peter, who stood in the center of the room, hands held loosely behind his back.

            “Well nephew? You said it was urgent.”

            “We need to know about a man called Scorpius.” Derek asked, jumping right in.

            “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

            “What about the Prophet?” Stiles pressed.

            Now Peter straightened, and his face spasmed slightly before returning to normal. That wasn’t good. “Why do you want to know?” Peter demanded.

            “He’s put out a bounty for Scott.” Peter’s eyebrows looked like they were going to climb off his face, and suddenly Stiles could see the resemblance between him and Derek.

            “Well, Scott’s a nice kid. Really. Obnoxiously righteous, but not a bad kid. I’m sure he’ll be missed.” Peter turned and began strolling away, but stopped short as Derek roared.

            Stiles almost fell off the table in shock, and his heart felt like it was trying to escape his chest by battering it apart from the inside. Derek was already shifting back into a human, but he had Stiles and Peter’s undivided attention now. He might not be an alpha anymore, but Derek hadn’t lost his ability to be terrifying. Stiles cautiously scooted a few inches away, not because he was afraid of Derek, but it didn’t hurt to be careful.

            Peter spoke again, and some of his cynicism and sarcasm were gone. “The Prophet always gets his prey. I don’t know how sheltered you were, but he’s a terror in our world.” Peter snapped at Derek. “He knows what his enemies are planning. He never loses a fight. And he hates hunters of our kind.”

            “Like the Argents?” Stiles couldn’t stop himself from interrupting.

            “Your astuteness never ceases to amaze.” Peter replied sarcastically. Stiles bristled, but Derek’s iron hand on his arm calmed his response. Peter continued, “Look, I don’t know what he wants with Scott, but I suggest that you not get in his way, if you want to stay alive.”

            “What about sirens? Did you ever hear of ‘El Naddaha’?”

            “No, that sounds like something you go to a doctor for.” Peter remarked snippily. Derek merely stared him down, waiting. The silence stretched out, and Peter shifted uncomfortably.

            “What’s in it for me?” Peter finally asked, rocking back on his heels.

            “The satisfaction of helping your beloved nephew?” Stiles offered hopefully.

            Peter smirked at him, and turned his gaze to Derek.

            “I’ll owe you a favor.” Derek said steadily.

            “That’s it? That’s all you’ve got?” Peter said skeptically. “Forgive me for not jumping at the offer.” Derek continued to stare, and Stiles sensed that something was happening between them that was just beyond his ability to decipher.

            At length, Peter sighed. “Fine. You know what? Fine. You owe me, and when the time comes, you’ll help me without question _._ ” Derek merely nodded and waited. Stiles turned his head and frowned at the wall. Of course Derek would get himself in debt to Peter, the most untrustworthy jerkoff in the area. It was a miracle he had survived this long.

            “A siren can’t be killed by any attack that you’ll try.” Peter explained, and Stiles decided he’d better listen closely. “Their essence is bound in a talisman, usually some sort of small trinket that can be hidden safely away. They can travel through water, and some legends say they can vanish into mist. They mainly kill their victims by drowning them, but they’ve been known to resort to strangulation or other means when necessary.”

            “So if we break her talisman, will she die?” Stiles asked. Peter shrugged unconcernedly. “How are we supposed to find it?” Stiles demanded, feeling himself growing angry.

            “Not my problem. She’s all yours.” Peter turned his back on them and strode to the door. “One more thing.” He said, pausing and turning towards them. “Sirens are vindictive creatures. They’re supposed to have a special hatred for those who interfere with their victims. So I’d watch out if I were you.” And with that, he closed the door behind him, leaving Stiles and Derek alone.

            Stiles was yelling as soon as the door closed. “He told us jack _shit_! How the hell are we gonna find El Naddaha’s little trinket? She could drop it down a drain. She could have left it back in freaking _Egypt_ for God’s sake. Not to mention another useless warning about Scorpius. Clever of him, huh? ‘Stay out of his way.’ Absolutely brilliant.”

            Derek let him rage until he was out of breath. “He told us what he knew. That much I trust.”

            “And a hell of a lot of good that does us!”

            “Don’t be an idiot Stiles. We know more about the siren. We know how to defeat her now.” Derek spoke confidently, as if it were already accomplished.

            “Excuse me? It’s not that easy. Let me remind you what we’re dealing with. Bounty hunters, a siren who can vanish into thin air and is basically unkillable, and a psychic with a cult of underworld groupies!”

            Derek raised a hand for silence, frowning slightly and looking up. “I’m not shutting up! We need-” Stiles’ words were cut off abruptly as Derek lunged forwards and slapped a hand over his mouth.

            “Quiet!” He hissed. Stiles mumbled something around Derek’s hand, and Derek pulled it away quickly, staring at Stiles with a horrified expression before vigorously wiping his hand on his pants. _That’s what you get_. Stiles grinned at him smugly.

            Then Stiles heard what Derek had been trying to listen to. A faint clicking and scraping, coming from the roof above them. It sounded like pebbles being scraped across the roof tiles.

            “Stiles. Get the car.” Derek ordered.

            “What?” Stiles must have heard wrong. Derek wanted him to drive?

            Derek had pulled the car keys out of his pocket when the window in front of them suddenly shattered as something fell through it. Derek pressed the keys into Stiles’ hands and shoved him violently towards the exit. Stiles did a stumble-sprint for the door, heaving it open as he heard Derek and something else snarling behind him. He paused in the threshold to look and his mouth dropped open.

            He’d seen a lot of strange things in the past year or so, but this beat all. Derek was grappling with what looked like the Egyptian god Anubis. It had a human body, leanly muscled, with vicious claws that reminded Stiles of Wolverine from the X-Men. It’s head was totally animal: long tufted ears, currently flat against the head, keen yellow eyes, and an unnaturally long snout, full of needle-sharp teeth, snapping at Derek.

            “Stiles! MOVE!” Derek bellowed, and Stiles was running as fast as he could down the staircase. Another enormous crash from the loft made him jump, and the keys flew from his hand, falling down the stairwell shaft to the first floor. Nevermind, he’d get them when he reached the bottom. He ran for all he was worth, taking the steps two at a time, narrowly avoiding falling. Above him he could hear roars, growls, and crashing.

            Then there was a snarl that echoed in the stairwell him. He glanced up, and then he was sprinting with renewed speed, adrenaline pumping through his veins. He wasn’t sure, but it looked like a werewolf had just left Derek’s loft, and it certainly wasn’t Derek. Stiles reached the bottom of the stairs, and whipped his head around, looking for the keys. _Where were they?!?_

            “Come on you little fuckers.” He whispered, his voice shaking. He wiped his hands over the ground frantically, barely able to see in the dim light of the stairwell. He could hear the werewolf above him getting closer, howling for his blood no doubt. His hands hit the keys at last, sending them skittering away. He scurried after them on hands and knees, seizing them and rolling to his feet. He slammed through the exit door, and rushed towards Derek’s sleek black Camaro.

            He unlocked the doors as he ran, and heard an echoing boom as he reached the car and slid into the driver’s seat. He wasn’t sure what had just happened, but it sounded like the werewolf had jumped down the remaining few flights of stairs. He started the car, fighting off panic. He had a plan, and it had so many flaws that Stiles could have written a book about why it was a bad idea, but it was also his only plan. He revved the engine, and whooped as it purred loudly. He looked towards the building just as the exit door was torn off its hinges. Stiles released the brakes.

            The car roared towards the building as the pursuing werewolf ran out of it. It was a woman, long black hair flying as she ran, and olive-toned skin. Fangs protruded from her mouth and she snarled as she sprinted straight at Stiles. It was a game of chicken, and Stiles knew that if she got close enough she could easily leap through the windshield and claw him to death, but he wasn’t going to let it get that far. He had picked up a few tips from Allison about using werewolves’ enhanced senses against them. As such, he had left the headlights off.

            He waited as long as he dared, then quite suddenly flashed the floodlights on. The werewolf threw her hands up and stopped dead in her tracks, howling in agony as the light shot painfully into her eyes. That was when Stiles smashed into her at 58mph. She flew backwards, and Stiles winced as she skidded across the ground. The airbags didn’t go off as expected. Derek must have had the car modified. _Excellent_. Stiles saw the werewolf rolling around in agony, but he stayed where he was. He knew from unfortunate experience that the blow wouldn’t kill her, but it _might_ disable her long enough for them to escape. He honked the horn furiously. _Come on Derek._

            With another crash- _Must have broken every window by this point_ \- Derek jumped from a room several stories up, falling onto a dumpster. Stiles spun the car around expertly, grinning at how smoothly it turned, and leaned over to throw open the passenger door.

            “Get in!” Derek rolled out of the dumpster with a pained yell, and half-stumbled, half-ran to the car. He collapsed into the passenger seat, and Stiles was driving before he could even get the door closed.

            “Are you alright?” Stiles asked. Derek might have broken his fall, but he had still jumped from several stories up. Stiles shook his head. When did that become something he was used to?

            “Broke my ankle. It’s healing.” Derek grunted, his face tight with pain. Stiles noticed that his hair was matted with blood.

            “Eyes on the road.” Derek admonished crisply. “It’s not mine.”

            Stiles snorted doubtfully, but let it pass. Like Derek would ever admit getting bested in a fight. That being said, they seemed to have left the supernatural creatures behind. Stiles checked the rearview mirror: nothing.            “Dude, we might be home free.”

            He had scarcely finished speaking when headlights flashed behind them. Stiles checked the rearview mirror again and squinted. They were on a back road, and there was no one around. The car behind them sped up, closing the distance between the two cars. Stiles swore.

            “What? What’s wrong?” Derek asked.

            “We might have a tail.”

Derek grunted as he turned his head to look behind him. Stiles switched lanes, and after a few moments their follower did the same. Stiles swore again, and Derek turned back to face the front. “It’s a man. He has a shotgun.” Derek said.

“Ok then. Here’s the plan. Buckle up, and plug this in.” Stiles pulled his iPhone out of his pocket and tossed it to Derek.

“What the hell am I supposed to do with this?” Derek retorted. Stiles turned to him with an excited smile.

“You’re going to plug it in and play music. Try searching “For Baltimore”.”

“Stiles, are you _insane_?”

“You know the answer as well as I do.” Stiles quipped. He felt much more in control now, behind the wheel of a fabulously built car. “We’re in a car chase, and I’m driving.” Stiles accelerated, pulling away slightly from their follower. “Now buckle up, I don’t want a ticket.”

Stiles risked looking over to make sure Derek was complying. Derek’s shirt was torn open slightly, exposing his collarbones and neck muscles. Stiles licked his lips and jerked his eyes back to the road, focusing on the task at hand.

“You’re crazy.” Derek was muttering, but he did as he was told, snaking out a cord that connected an iPod to the radio, and searching Stiles’ phone for the song. “What’s your plan?”

“We need to get on the highway before he realizes what we’re doing. Once we’re moving faster, I can get us away from him.” Derek raised his eyebrows skeptically. “Sheriff’s son, jerk! Trust me, I know what I’m doing!”

“Yeah, but it’s my car!”

“Right, and you’ve certainly got fine taste in cars.” Stiles patted the dash fondly. Derek glowered at him.

            “If you get a scratch on her Stiles-” he said warningly.

            “Yeah yeah, you’ll tear out my throat or something.” Stiles airily brushed aside the threat. He was in his element now. “Where’s my music?”

            Derek didn’t say anything, but the radio suddenly kicked to life and the opening chords of the song started playing. Stiles cranked the volume up and grinned. _Bring it on_.

            He drove on back streets as long as possible, deliberately avoiding the routes he knew the cops would be patrolling. As soon as he could, he got on the highway, and that was when the fun really started. Eventually Stiles had to yell at Derek to stop violently grabbing the seat arms each time Stiles so much as sped up.

            “If you want me to lose him, you’re going to have to trust me!” Stiles yelled over the music, cutting off a semi.

            “You’re out of your mind!” Derek yelled back, and Stiles cackled maniacally. Derek looked at him like he was the Antichrist. This was turning out great.

            The Camaro drove wonderfully, and Stiles expertly put her through her paces, weaving in and out of traffic. Their tail wasn’t nearly as skilled, but he doggedly kept on, and Stiles could never quite lose him. Time to try something else.

            They were closing in on a major junction that Stiles knew well. There would be a series of 4 exits: the first led to a truck stop, the second to a highway oasis, the third led back to Beacon Hills, and the fourth turned into a new highway. To top it all off, there was also a toll booth right before the junction, which would slow down anyone who was unprepared for it.

            “Hold on!” He yelled to Derek, who swore and gripped his seat tightly. Stiles was loving this. He sped up as they approached the toll booth, and Derek started to protest. “Shut up and close your eyes!” Stiles commanded, using the tone of authority he had heard his Dad use on the job. Derek shut his eyes tightly and groaned dramatically. As if Stiles would let anything happen to such a beautiful car.

            Stiles rocketed through the toll booth, and quickly accelerated, switching into the far right lane. Their tail was caught up in a short line, frantically honking as he tried to get through. Stiles cut off a line of cars heading for the exits, almost causing an accident. A semi was approaching in the lane to the left. Stiles matched its pace, using its bulk to shield Derek’s car from sight. As soon as they came up on the exit for Beacon Hills, Stiles peeled off, and turned down the first side street that became available. He drove until he found a neighborhood, checking the rearview mirror frequently. He parked in the street, killing the engine and headlights.

            “Now, we wait.” He said brightly, turning to Derek. Derek was staring at him with a mixture of incredulity and something approaching awe. “What?” Stiles asked, his smile dropping.  
            “Where did you learn to drive like that?”

            “I told you! Sheriff’s son. My dad gave me lessons! Didn’t your dad ever- oh.” Stiles stopped suddenly, and mentally kicked himself. _God you’re a fucking asshole._ How could he be so insensitive?

            Derek looked out the windshield, his jaw tightening. “Shit, I’m sorry dude, I didn’t- I forgot- I-”

            “Forget it Stiles.” Derek murmured. Stiles fluttered his hands uselessly, trying to figure out how to apologize. “You should call Scott. Let him know what happened.” Derek suggested, quietly but firmly, and Stiles had lost his chance.

            His stomach tightened and he felt like he had just destroyed their bizarre friendship. He looked out the window as his phone dialed Scott’s number. He had no idea how he had fucked things up so quickly. It must be some sort of record. He was lost in his regret, and only snapped out of it when he heard Scott’s voicemail recording. He frowned in concern.

            “Hi Scott, it’s me. We were attacked again.” Stiles left a message detailing the battle with the werewolf and were-jackal (or whatever it was), the car chase, and what they had gleaned from Peter about El Naddaha. “Call me back as soon as you can.” Stiles hung up.

            “We need to get back to the clinic.” Derek said matter-of-factly. Stiles winced, hearing the same tone of voice Derek had used when Scott and he had first met him. It was cold and distant, and Stiles hated it. He didn’t answer, but started up the car again and peeled away from the curb, wishing more than anything that he’d been able to control his big mouth, that he hadn’t had to remind Derek of his loss. They drove the rest of the way in silence.


End file.
